


A Gift

by mountain_ash



Series: Things I Write on Tumblr dot com [24]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Frontotemporal Dementia, POV Derek, Self-Harm, Stiles Stilinski Accepts The Bite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7513160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_ash/pseuds/mountain_ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles develops Frontotemporal Dementia and promises to take the bite for his dad's sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on [tumblr](http://a-mountain-ash.tumblr.com/post/150217387015/this-ficlet-was-based-on-some-tumblr-fan-art-that) and based on [this](http://cocked-up.tumblr.com/post/50960976061/wolfstiles-hes-not-handling-it-super-well) fanart on tumblr!!

Derek knows better now. The bite is not always a gift, and currently the idea of the bite churns through his veins and makes his blood boil with grief and rage. But he hides it. He hides his misery fueled by the cosmic injustice of the situation and he smiles. Not a big smile, not a happy one, but a smile all the same, intended to diffuse his fear and scatter it just wide enough so the young man before him can’t detect it. The young man before him who hasn’t yet lost too much of himself to make this decision.

This time, the symptoms weren’t a cruel trick set by a thousand-year-old demon. This time, the brain scan was Stiles’ own. This time, Stiles woke one morning and screamed at the stranger in his bed that he’d known since that day long ago in the woods to leave before he called the police. This time, Stiles knew the choice between his two worst fears must be made and he chose the lesser evil.

The smile doesn’t work, because Stiles knows him too well- knows that Derek doesn’t smile like that unless he’s in pain. The younger man returns a watery smile.

“It’s a gift, right?” His voice wobbles miserably and his smile falters at the sound of it. Derek doesn’t need the insistent blips of his heartbeat to detect the lie. He doesn’t know what Stiles is most afraid of. Whether it’s the possibility of blue eyes, the theoretical loss of his humanity, the coordination and power that rob him of the vulnerability he has embraced and transformed into his personal strength, or something else, the thought of leaving his father alone is the only thing Stiles fears more than the bite.

Derek simply slips his hand into Stiles’ as he sits beside him in wait of Scott’s arrival. The seconds tick by like molasses in comparison to Stiles’ rabbiting heartbeat and Derek wishes he could drain the other man’s anxiety like pain.

When Scott arrives, he offers no chance for Stiles’ to back out, hesitating no longer than a millisecond before his fangs sink into Stiles’ wrist. Stiles had told him not to, knowing he may not be mentally sound enough to alter his decision later. His choice almost a year ago to take the bite when he first forgot his father was binding and non-retractable. Derek tightens his grip at the whimper that falls from the young man’s lips. Soon, he would die or turn.

Stiles shakes fitfully against Derek’s side as Scott wraps his wrist in gauze and tapes it delicately, spasms wracking his body as he fights the sobs wanting to break free. The bite should take quickly the turn should happen immediately. Stiles had chosen to take it on a full moon, so he wouldn’t have to wait long for it to happen. Scott and Derek had questioned the wisdom of the decision, but Stiles had been firm and so they agreed. If he was going to become a werewolf, it wouldn’t matter if he had a month to prepare or hours. He would experience it the same.

Hours creep past and Stiles falls asleep curled into Derek’s chest, emotionally spent and exhausted. Derek can’t rest as every errant beat of the young man’s heart sounds like the beginning of his death. His spine stiffens when Stiles whines pitifully in his sleep and a moment of panic winds itself tightly around Derek and Scott as they share wide-eyed glance. The tension is broken abruptly as Stiles rips himself forward and away from Derek’s grasp with a roar that dies in throat almost before it begins.

He whips his head from one direction to another, his attention rarely caught on a single stimulus for more than a few seconds. Derek wants to know what color his eyes are, but they haven’t begun shifting yet.

“Stiles?” Scott asks tentatively, his fear as a friend overwhelming the typical alpha response to a new beta. “Stiles can you hear me?”

The new werewolf seems not to notice his best friend’s query and he moves to stand for the first time, freshly extended claws ripping the flannel of his pajama pants.

“You might want to be more assertive, Scott.” Derek whispers warily. He watches as Scott lets his eyes burn red.

  
“Stiles.” He asserts more forcefully, the hint of a growl rumbling beneath his human voice.

Stiles seems to notice the people around him for the first time and he snaps his head around to face Scott, who stands authoritatively. Without missing a beat, Stiles sinks to a knee as he bares his neck and tears begin pouring down his cheeks.

Scott’s eyes flicker out in confusion and he approaches Stiles hesitantly. “Stiles, what-”

“Go please, Scott.” Stiles speaks for the first time, his voice wobbly and tentative. “I don’t-don’t want you to do that to me.”

Derek can hear the effort in his voice, the strain to tell Scott what to do from his continued submissive posture. Scott wavers between staying and turning towards the door, his poorly developed alpha instincts warring with his humans ones. He glares at the open space at Stiles’ neck in frustration.

“Scott!” Stiles chokes out, tears blurring his vision and grief swelling his throat shut. “I can handle it.” Blood is staining his pants’ leg where his claws have spasmed deep into his quad.

The alpha looks up briefly at Derek who stares impassively in reply, refusing to give Scott permission where Stiles has already done so and he rushes out through the back door. The door shuts harder than strictly necessary and a jagged, enraged growl escapes Stiles’ throat in return.

Derek wraps his arm around Stiles slowly, dragging his hand soothingly across Stiles’ back as he reaches to pull his hand from his leg. The new werewolf watches with stricken eyes as the blood trickles lazily from the rapidly sealing wounds and Derek watches in wonder as Stiles’ eyes turn yellow for the first time, the shift triggered by the healing process. Time seems to crawl and Derek watches Stiles stare at the newly seamless skin on his leg in bafflement before the young man releases a nasty, wounded scream and tears new gashes into his leg faster than Derek can stop him.

He manages to get a hand around Stiles’ wrist, but Stiles’ rage is too unhinged and he breaks free easily and slashes through his other leg.

“Stiles, stop! Please!” Derek cries, futilely trying to hold Stiles still.

“I just want it to stay!” The young man cries as he digs his claws deeper into a closing wound. “I just want it to stay.”

Blood has pooled around them and Derek thinks Stiles may fall unconscious faster than his body can regenerate the volume. As the metallic tang surrounds them and forces bile to rise in Derek’s throat, Stiles’ movements become slower and weaker and Derek finally succeeds in wrapping his arms around him from behind and dragging him from the pool of blood. Weak sobs burst from Stiles’ chest as he curls in on the hardwood floor beneath him and Derek holds him through the tremors of the shift that pass violently through his weakened body as the night passes and the moon rises.

When the moon finally sets, Stiles’ body sags in on itself and Derek massages deep, slow circles into the knotted muscles on his back, unwilling to betray the bone-deep exhaustion creeping through his being. He leans over and kisses the nape of Stiles’ neck soothingly before whispering, “You’re alive.” Gratitude and relief saturate his tone and Stiles stiffens beneath him.

“Alive.” He answers mockingly. The tone chills Derek’s spirit and he unconsciously pulls away from the man beneath him, incapable of fighting off the rising bitterness.

“Yes. Alive.” Heat is rising in his gut as his voice grows louder. “And you’re going to remember your father until long after he passes, and you’re never going to wake up thinking I’m a stranger, and I’m going to get to ask you to marry me and not only think you’re saying yes because you’re dying, and we’re going to be able to leave this hell hole and actually have time in front of us and-” His words halt abruptly as he catches up to his confession and finds Stiles staring incredulously at him.

“You…want that?” Stiles’ voice is so quiet and uncertain and Derek wants to cry in frustration, but an exasperated bark of laughter is all that escapes. Stiles’ mind is finally his own again and he doesn’t even believe in what he has worth living for. The younger man seems to register the warring emotions playing on Derek's face, and possibly in his scent, and he scrubs at his face in dawning awareness. “You want that. I can have that.”

They stare at one another, breathing heavily in emotional exertion before Stiles finally lunges forward and pulls Derek into a far tighter hug than he’s ever experienced before. Stiles’ breathe falls warmly where his face is pressed against Derek’s neck and they stand there contentedly for long moments before Stiles speaks again. “We can have that.”

“We can have that.” Derek repeats.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated and come visit me on [tumblr](http://a-mountain-ash.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
